


Green

by KitsJay



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M, kinkmeme fill, so hey guess what I was the Christmas anon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 23:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17796878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsJay/pseuds/KitsJay
Summary: Renard meets a young rookie cop named Nick.





	Green

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a fill on the Grimm kinkmeme.

According to his most recent evaluation, Detective Sean Renard was a promising officer with medals, commendations, and favorable recommendations filling his file. As a rookie, he had risen through the ranks easily until he brushed elbows with the chief of police, captains, and politicians with a diplomatic smile, polite laugh, and an iron will.

His partner was not so lauded. A veteran with little to no chance of advancement, Hiram Long had only three ex-wives and alimony payments to his name. He clung to his rank with the grip of a desperate man.

It was almost a mercy kill.

Renard wiped down the last traces of his presence in the room and surveyed it with a satisfied air. In a few days, the hotel manager would beat on the door, or some unlucky maid would let herself in, and find the blue-glazed eyes of Detective Long staring sightlessly at the wall. An officer would be called, pronounce the scene a DOA and smoke a cigarette outside while they waited for the coroner to arrive. The faint trace of stale liquor would sting their noses and they would look sadly at the empty bottle of Jameson’s whiskey, and find the glass grown sticky rolled under the bed where it had dropped out of his lifeless hand. Renard gently pushed the man’s arm down.  
He was a perfectionist, really.

It was what made him so good at his job; it’s also what made him so good at being a detective.

 

Three weeks after Long’s funeral, ostensibly due to bureaucratic reasons, but in all probability was the department’s way of ensuring that poor Renard, who lost his partner to a binge drinking night, had a chance to regain his footing, he received his newest rookie. The man was so new he practically squeaked, appallingly naïve, but intelligent nonetheless. It was never smart to conflate the two, Renard had learned, though they often intersected.

“Nick Burkhardt,” he introduced himself, putting out a hand and an easy smile that looked like it belonged on his face. Renard hid a smile at the look on the man’s face: respect, but something a little more, too, something bordering on hero-worship.

“Renard,” he said simply, letting his touch linger a tad too long. A rosy blush crept up the side of Nick’s neck and flushed into his cheeks. It was too easy sometimes.

“I heard about what happened to your partner,” Nick said, shifting uncomfortably. His hand rose to the back of his neck and fell before it could reach there. “I’m sorry.”

Renard put on the face he had before, when his captain had called him in to tell him the news. A touch of stoicism, a tiny dash of anger, and let sadness cloud his vision.

“Hiram was a good man,” he lied. “A good detective.”

He wasn’t. If anything, it was remarkable that Long had gotten as far as he had, with his deficits in either work ethic or intelligence. It was sheer bad luck on his part that he had stumbled across another person who had gotten in Renard’s way and put two and two together; he was surprised the man was sober enough even for the most basic of detection. It was a miscalculation on his part, Renard mused, but not one he would make again. Making mistakes was inevitable, but making the same mistake twice was unacceptable.

Gazing at Nick’s face, wide open for everyone to see, he nodded to himself.

No, he would not make the same mistake twice.

He never put much stock into clichés, but there was one that he particularly enjoyed: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

 

Despite himself, he grew somewhat affectionate of Nick. The man was smart as Renard had thought, most of his deficiencies stemming from a lack of experience rather than a lack of smarts. He was worth keeping an eye on, Renard thought as he watched Nick finesse a witness with his guileless eyes and earnest expression. As the man turned to him and smiled, Renard amended that thought wryly – worth keeping an eye on for more reasons than one.

It had started out as a game, really.

The brush of fingertips as he had given the man a cup of coffee. The warm, steady hand of his mentor on his shoulder as he praised the new rookie.

What he had not counted on was his own reaction to the man’s grateful smile in return, or the way he leaned into the touch almost subconsciously. Renard had to fight the impulse to curl his hand inward and caress the soft skin, trail it down his cheek and to his neck, holding his hand there like a lover’s caress around his throat.

It was unsettling.

“She talked?” he said shortly.

Nick nodded, beaming, and held up his notepad filled with half-scrawled notes. “She gave a full description. We should be able to pick the guy up in no time.”

“Good work,” Renard said. “I assume you have an address?”

With a flourish, the top page was ripped off and presented to him. “Of course.”

“Let’s go.”

 

Renard and Nick found themselves squeezed into an unmarked car, sipping coffee that had been fresh sometime that morning, and listening to the quiet sound of a radio announcer giving a play-by-play of the game. Renard’s hand found the knob and turned it down to a quiet murmur, almost hidden under the sound of the rain hitting the steel frame of his car.

Nick shifted in the seat next to him.

“Comfortable?” he finally said.

He glanced over to see Nick grimace. “Sorry,” he apologized, shifting again. “I can’t seem to find the lever.”

“Here.” Renard slid his hand beneath the seat, heard Nick’s breath catch as he found the lever and pulled it so the seat jolted back. He let his hand linger for a moment.  


“Thanks,” Nick breathed out, voice raspy with want.  


Renard didn’t reply, just let his hand drift upward, brushed the inside of Nick’s thigh through his jeans. His thumb brushed the seam, dragged it until his fingers were brushing against him. He looked across, met Nick’s gaze, face flushed and eyes bright and wide in his face. Leaning forward, he applied more pressure to his hand, a firm touch that could be felt through rough denim, and let his lips brush against the curved shell of Nick’s ear. “Is this a problem?”

“I- but you’re-“ Nick stuttered.

Letting out a soft laugh in Nick’s ear, the curl of dark hair ghosting against his half-smile, Renard nuzzled the tender skin of his jaw. “I know. But I’ve seen you looking.”  
He cupped Nick’s face in one hand, his thumb caressing the rise of his cheekbones.

“And listening so attentively,” he said as he nipped Nick’s earlobe, soothed it with his tongue. Nick let out a low moan, so eager.

“And wanting to touch,” Renard finished, his hand drifting downward unerringly to his goal. Nick’s legs spread immediately, and he suppressed a shiver at the bolt of want that the gesture sent through him. Clever fingers popped the button and pulled the zipper down. He cupped him through his boxers and massaged him, feeling the aborted thrusts that Nick was making in the confines of the seat. It wasn’t a comfortable angle, leaning over the center console, but Renard paid no attention.

“Have you thought about this?” he asked casually, his fingers dipping below the waistband of Nick’s boxers. “While you were sitting at work, did you think about walking over, dropping to your knees, sucking me off while everyone in the station watched?”

Nick’s eyes opened wide at that, pupils dilated almost impossibly wide. His breath caught on a gasp, tongue peeking out to swipe across his lips.

He leaned forward again, letting his mouth brush against Nick’s ear once more. “Or did I tell you to bend down over the desk and fuck you? Do you like it slow, Nick,” he slowed his strokes to match the words, then sped up, “or fast and rough, so that you couldn’t walk the next day without everyone knowing what I had done to you?”

A shattered moan broke the air and Renard knew he was close.

“I have a confession to make, Nick.” He dropped his voice, letting it become husky, “I’ve thought about that, too.”

Nick’s voice tore, shaking out a thin cry as he came in Renard’s hand.

He gentled him through it, gazing out the window at the plain house across the street while Nick’s breath evened out and he heard the rustling of him tucking himself in.

“Do you – “ Nick began uncertainly.

“Later,” Renard said off-handedly, seeing the figure making its way up the walkway. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Later, Renard thought, he would teach Nick ecstasy and the reward for absolute loyalty. If Nick ever betrayed him… well, Hiram Long wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last.


End file.
